Richard Griffiths
This blog post was originally going to be a treatise on the joy of New Jersey. Or possibly even a discussion of Fiona Shaw’s latest show on Broadway, The Testament of Mary. It might have even been on how much I dig Security Guy Ron (and yes, I really do know his last name).
Instead it’s going to be about Richard Griffiths.
I am indescribably saddened by his death. I adored him, even though I’d never actually met him and had had only very minimal contact once with him after seeing Equus.
Anyone who knows me well knows I have much affection for full figured men, so it’s no wonder that Richard caught my eye in 1991, when I was 18. The slapstick comedy, Naked Gun 2 ½: The Smell of Fear, when he plays doppelgangers Dr. Albert S. Meinheimer and Edward Hacker was wonderfully funny. The whole film is silliness and insane physical comedy, which I love. And when he flies through the air in a motorized wheelchair, a la E.T. - brilliance!
Of course, with the advent of the internet it was much easier to find out about him, and I was always bummed out by the fact that Richard didn’t seem to think people cared about him. It seemed like he thought the only reason people wanted to know him was because of the characters he played. Which is ludicrous, of course. There’s a difference between being a fan of a character and a fan of an actor. I’m a fan of the character Jack Sparrow but am rather ambivalent about Johnny Depp. Very kind, warm man, but I’m not interested in him the way some of my friends are. But those friends who are fans of Johnny Depp care deeply about him. I’m sure Richard never gave it much thought - fans are fans, and we’re all a bit crazy. But how many people texted and e-mailed me in sorrow over his death? If it was just about his characters and not about Richard the man, then it wouldn’t have mattered. Because we have Uncle Monty and Dr. Meinheimer and Vernon Dursley and Hector and Henry Crabbe all captured digitally - why should we be saddened over the actor’s death? But it’s not about the characters, it was about him.
I’d read up on him a bit before I went to see the Equus and knew he had a penchant for throwing people out of theatres if their mobiles rang. As someone who walks around with my mobile spell-o-taped to my hand, I didn’t want to be that person. Before I walked into the play I pulled my battery, which has since become a habit - I do it before I walk into any house of worship. In the middle of the play, after his monologue, he got a standing ovation. I’d never seen a crowd do that in the middle of a play. After the play I elbowed my way through the throng of teenage girls and from three people back managed to shove my playbill towards them. He took it from my hand, signed it, and put it back in my hand. I shouted, “Thank you Mr. Griffiths!” He shouted, “You’re welcome,” back. His whole performance was just so mind-blowing. Forget naked Daniel Radcliffe. I often think of his performance and how I wished I’d seen it at least once more. The bartender who worked Equus told me later that he very clearly didn’t like people, but he was a truly lovely man and very sweet. As in, he didn’t let his general dislike of people affect how he treated them - he was kind and generous and said please and thank you. Not that I’m calling anyone out. *ahem* I watched the Tonys the year he and Daniel presented an award and I remember the thing with the Post-It note and him saying, with a twinkle in his eye, “There’s no such thing as magic,” and Daniel busting out laughing. Just on Tuesday I was talking about him to a friend. It’s fascinating how much he influences me even now and I never even met him.
I have so many regrets about him. I wish I’d known him. I wish I’d seen him in The Sunshine Boys and The Habit of Art. Most of all I wish he’d realized how much we loved him. As a person. Not as a character. This morning the Equus bartender via e-mail said, “He was a gem of a man.” Indeed he was. And I hope wherever he is now he knows he will be so terribly missed.